We're surrounded by the fuckin' wolves.

Steve Sayors' eyes snapped open and he was greeted by the pitch-blackness of his hotel room and the clammy, cool sensation of sweat drenching his entire body. He gingerly pushed himself up into a seated position, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and peering into the abyss that surrounded him as he tore off his waterlogged wifebeater and tossed it onto the floor. He swore under his breath as he hopped off the bed and the revelation set in that he wouldn't be getting back to sleep. His hand reached waywardly towards the nightstand, finger wrapping around his cell phone - that small, perfect little life-controlling rectangle.

He squinted at the blindingly bright light as he unlocked the phone, trying to read the small numbers at the top of the screen.

3:33 AM

However, something else caught his attention.

ONE NEW EMAIL

FROM: mbraddock@gmail.com
SUBJECT: I See You

Tell me Steve, no this isn't rhetorical, did you think you were being clever? Did you think I wouldn't notice you? Don't quit your day-job, you could never hack it as a PI. Though I'm sure you of all people possess enough self-awareness to recognise your shortcomings, even if you're incapable of fixing them, so let me get to the heart of the matter.

What's your endgame? What makes a meek, unassuming gentleman such as yourself jump off the slippery slope into out-and-out stalking? Was this done out of some semblance of maintaining journalistic integrity after your badgering failed to get the response you wanted? That's what this is all about: proving to the world that you are a capable reporter, even if all anyone sees is a nebbish, outdated loser.

I guess you were smart enough about it, though: go after the obvious target. Meredith Braddock, née Wesley. After all, there has to be something off about me; every publication who's ever run a story about Felix or my father has assumed such. It's all the same, at the end of the day: incendiary and spiteful, designed with the sole purpose of getting me to show my 'true colours'. And yet, no matter how many times I've sat and received scathing insults disguised as questions from instigators much more capable than you, I never cracked.

Even when I was called 'The Gangster's Daughter' or asked about my husband's gambling problem - a vice created solely by tabloids to sell more copies, I'm sure.

Though, I always wonder about the mindsets of those who conduct such interviews. Think about it, Steve. Really think for a moment and realise just how bad of a situation you'd be in if your worst fears about me were true. Do you think an unhinged psycho would take kindly to being stalked?

You're lucky I'm not the person you think I am.

Are you familiar with The Lady, or the Tiger?

A knock came at the door. Loud, banging thuds. Steve looked up from his phone for a second, his heart pounding.

The semi-barbaric king arranges a trial in which the accused is faced with two doors: behind one is a lady, behind the other is a tiger. The doors are soundproofed heavily so there's no way to hear either until the door is open. If the door containing the lady is chosen, the accused is innocent and must marry the woman. If the door containing the tiger is opened, then he's guilty and will be mauled.

Now, the man on trial is a man of lower status who dared fall in love with the princess. The princess is the wild card here, though. Using her influence, she manages to figure out which door contains the lady and which door contains the tiger though the lady is someone she cannot stand.

At the trial, the princes gestures to the door on the right, which the accused chooses.

The knocks became louder, even more aggressive - almost knocking the door off its hinges.

Now, given the reality that the princess will lose the love of her life - either to death or to marriage to a woman she can't stand - which door did she point him towards, Steve?

The lady, or the tiger?


Entry #000: What the hell did I do? I should've turned left. I should never have followed Braddock. I should never have gotten involved with the XWF. I should've gotten a degree in something more useful - how was I supposed to know print journalism would die in my lifetime?

Keep it together. You're a journalist - this is what you do.

Entry #001: Braddock pulls into a diner outside of city limits, takes a seat at an occupied table. The couple at the table don't seem to recognize her but don't send her away. She orders something (can't quite tell from inside the car), but doesn't seem too interested in it. Instead she keeps playing with her silverware, particular attention paid to the knife, which she gestures with once or twice while talking to the couple who become more and perturbed by her presence.

Entry #002: The couple leave before her. She continues playing with her silverware, twirling the knife around with the tip pressed against her finger with her chair pulled out sideways as if to give me a better view, though her eyes stay locked on the knife the way they were on the camera before the interview.

Entry #003: Pays for her meal and leaves, despite not touching it once. I keep my head down as she walks by my car on the way to her's, don't know if she saw me. She inspects herself for a long time in the visor mirror before starting the engine and driving off.

Entry #004: Braddock drives to her hotel and stays in her car for a few minutes before pulling out her cell-phone and getting out. Talks loudly on her phone - loud enough for me to hear pretty clearly from across the parking lot. Left a voicemail for Tush, asking about his recipe for "veal". Don't know what she's talking about unless... oh, shit. That can't be it. Yeah, and Tush is actually a really great cook. Jesus Christ.

Entry #005: Drove back to my hotel. Called Braddock and requested a follow-up interview for tomorrow. She seems surprised by the whole situation - actually, she doesn't. She sounds like she's trying to sound surprised. Maybe I'm being paranoid. She accepts the offer however, and tells me she looks forward to seeing me. Muttered something under her breath after that but hung up before I could ask her to repeat herself.

Entry #006: Can't stop thinking about what she said during the interview. Wolves in sheep's clothing. It was to make a point that Kandi was the opposite, right? I feel like this whole thing is Pandora's Box and I just fucked up and opened it.


It's amazing how much impact a single word can have on someone. How sometimes, all it takes is one word, one collection of letters, one combination of syllables to strip the autonomy from a person and turn them into a puppet dancing on the strings you gave them. With one word, I cut into Kandi Washington's psyche. With one off-handed remark, I got Kandi to slice herself open and reveal all of herself to everyone.

All I had to do was call her a bully, and she relinquished total control to me. I'm the one who set the pace and she's struggling to catch up, to clear her name - to scream from the heavens that she isn't a bully. As if that was the point I was trying to make. People always find new and inventive ways to disappoint, don't they? After all, and I may be the one at fault here, but I expected to be staring down a supremely confident woman. Yet, here we are: Kandi, so rattled from a single word that she's gone and lost her mind.

Isn't that right, Kandi?

Did something I say trigger that victim complex of yours? Where the entire world is against you due for some irrational reason? We're all just jealous, though, isn't that right? We're all so jealous of you that we can't conduct ourselves without bursting out in tirades of insults and dismissive remarks. Everyone's bullying you but it's okay because you have such thick skin that the slightest criticism about your personality sends you off the deep end. That the most minute, weakest insult I could muster is the one you focus on... why?

But wait, those same insults and dismissive remarks are the same as the ones you've been lobbing at anyone and everyone who happens to have the same set of genitalia as you. Does that make you jealous of all those women you claim are jealous of you? Is this what you're getting at? No - you're just so insecure with being a woman in a predominately male sport that you lash out at other women for not being as "independent and strong" as you in order to feel like you're in control of your own destiny.

As you step right into the trap and have your guts spilled right in front of you, revealing the truth of the situation: you aren't in control. You're desperate.

Like I said earlier, you're a sheep in wolf's clothing. You can howl at the moon all you like, Kandi - no one's buying it.

I don't have to insult your age. I don't have to insult your looks. I don't have to defend The Union and point out all the differences between you and Scully. I don't have to do any of that because I've already exposed you.

Though I guess if I want to be more accurate, I gave you all the tools needed to expose yourself, and you did a marvelous job at it.

I claim you scream all your accomplishments to the heavens because that's the only way someone will take note of them - because that's the only way you think people will respond to them in the way you want them to, and what do you do in response? You continue. You persist. You scream louder at the heavens, proclaim all the things you and your little team will do hoping that you can convince yourself and everyone around you that you believe what you're saying. That you'll actually accomplish it.

I'm just jealous of you. Everyone else needs to grow thicker skin. You are the best thing to ever happen to the world of professional wrestling - and the world in general, the more you think about it.

These are the lies you tell yourself. The lies you hope so badly to internalize even a fraction as well as the misogynistic rhetoric you throw so liberally towards every other female you're in a room with because the sight of other women scares you. These are the lies you'll never be able to believe.

You know why?

Because deep down, somewhere below the surface: you know that they're lies. Fiction. A narrative you created to avoid telling yourself the truth. A persona created to justify lying to yourself so thoroughly.

Oh, Kandi.

Answer this question for me please, will you?

If you subscribe to the belief that actions speak louder than words, then how come your words so far (and always will) overshadow your actions?